Hurts Like Hell
by teamfreewilll
Summary: Sam Winchester would balk at the idea of something hurting like hell. He'd been to hell, knew it intimately. That's why, when he went down in the middle of a forest in Idaho, the jaws of a bear trap clamped firmly on his left ankle, he didn't say it hurt like hell. It was close though. (This is my first ever fic, so any criticism would be most welcome!)
1. Chapter 1

Sam Winchester would balk at the idea of something hurting like hell. He'd been to hell, knew it intimately. The memories of it still lived with him, they still came to him every night and wrapped around his consciousness every day, affecting every aspect, every facet of his life. Sure, he was good at pretending that over one hundred years in hell _didn't_ affect him, but what other choice did he have? There was always someone else that needed saving, another apocalypse that needed averting. How could he take a weekend off? How could he ever take a _day_? What if, in that day, someone died? That would just be another name to add to the list. Another weight on his already burdened shoulders.

So That's how he knew that nothing on earth could ever hurt like hell. Nothing on earth came with the baggage that an extended stay in the cage did. He'd been stabbed, shot, choked, had his foot cooked extra crispy by that psycho British bitch, and everything in between. None of that compared to having his skin flayed while he watched, or seeing your own heart beating in someone else hand. That's why, when he went down in the middle of a forest in Idaho, the jaws of a bear trap clamped firmly on his left ankle, he didn't say it hurt like hell. It was close though.

He hadn't been paying attention to the forest floor, it was a rookie move. Hunters, regular hunters, put traps down all the time for grizzlies in the area, but Sam had been hyper-focused on finding the werewolf that had evaded him and Dean for the last two nights. It was a huge forest, an extensive piece of land, and between the two of them they couldn't cover even a quarter of it. They were both determined to not let it get away for a third night. So determined, it seemed, that Sam had forgotten basic survival skills.

The cold and wet of the forest floor was quickly soaking into the denim of his jeans, and he could feel mud and mulchy leaves under his hands, where he was holding himself up to inspect the damage to his leg. Under the rusted metal of the bear trap, he could see where his jeans had torn and where the vicious steel claws disappeared beneath them, grinding against the bones of his lower leg. Distantly, he thought about the fact he'd probably have to get some kind of shot after this, and he grimaced at that thought. He had no idea how long this trap had been laid out, nor the kind of bacteria that could be festering on it. Really, he should be more concerned about bleeding out in the middle of the forest, but he'd already pulled his cell from his pocket to call Dean. Who no doubt would hear the word bear trap and take off in a run that would see him across the forest before the call had even disconnected. His big brother would see to it that he got out of here in one piece, or as good as near it.

There was no way Sam would be able to get out of the trap on his own, not with the blood loss that was quickly making his arms feel like jello, and the awkward angle in which his leg lay. Part of him hated having to call for his big brother, hated that he was pulling him away from the job, but he knew that if Dean found out he had sat here with his leg encased in steel while his brother finished off a wolf, then he'd be pretty pissed at him. Probably call him an idiot.

Eager to preserve his strength, the younger Winchester lay back on the floor, with the night sky above him, a sprinkling of stars littering the midnight blue. He let his eyes drift shut for a moment so that he could slow his breathing down, and hear past the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. He had to be calm when he called Dean. He knew his brother would pick up on the sound of barely contained panic in his voice almost immediately, and that would just make him panic, and then in his panic to get to Sam, he was likely to hurt himself too. Then they would be seriously screwed. Then they'd have to actually call the authorities, and try to explain why they were hunting bears in the middle of the night. With silver bullets. Pressing number one on his speed dial, he held the phone up to his ear, and waited. Five seconds for Dean to pull the phone from his pocket, two for him to see it was Sam calling, and his brother had answered before the ten count.

"Sammy, you got it?" The tinny, gruff voice asked, making Sam cringe slightly. _'No, Dean, I haven't got_ _it' _he wanted to say. 'just screwed up the hunt _again_, need you to come save my ass, _again_.'

"No, no. I was looking, and a bear trap got me. I don't think I can get it off myself." Rain was starting to fall now. Big, fat drops falling onto his forehead. _Like drops of blood, Jess' blood. Falling from the ceiling of the apartment they shared, the apartment he watched burn. The apartment they were supposed to come home to, as husband and wife._

"-mmy! Hey, answer me! Don't make me get the helicopters out!" The voice brought Sam back and he blinked a couple of times to stop seeing wooden beams and see the sky instead.

"I'm here, I'm good. I just- Just need your help." _In more ways than one. _

"You got it, Sammy. Just gotta tell me where you are, I'm not a psychic." _Not like you, you freak. _That niggling voice in the back of his head was really not helping right now.

If they were on the phone to each other, then that meant they had signal. If they had signal, then Sam could send Dean his GPS location. Which meant he didn't have to try and figure out how far from the car he was now. Pulling the phone from his ear, he blinked a couple of times until his vision focused, then clicked on deans contact picture. He had done this a billion times before, could find the little arrow emoji to send his location to his brother. Then all he had to do was lie back, not pass out, and wait for him to come.

"Done. Watch your step. Could be more traps along the way." He spoke into the phone, not bothering to hold it back to his ear. He could hear Dean saying something back to him through the handset, but by this point Sam had already dropped the phone in to the mud. Great, that would probably be ruined. His last thought before he succumbed to unconscious, was that he'd have to get a shot _and_ a new phone at this rate.

So much for not passing out.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing that Sam was aware of when he came to, was the feeling of rain still falling on his face. So, it hadn't been some horrible dream. The second thing he was aware of was pain. Bright hot pain that felt like it started at the bottom of his leg and felt like it spread throughout his entire freaking body. God, it was brutal. He'd rather have no leg at all than feel this pain for a second longer. The third thing he was aware of, was someone frantically shouting his name.

Oh, yeah. The forest, the bear trap on his ankle. The pain made sense now, he'd stupidly gone and stood right on top of a bear trap.

"Sam, for the love of god, if you don't open your eyes!" Dean was delirious with worry, holding onto the lapels of Sams jacket as he tried to shake him awake. The kid was a giant, there was no way he was going to be able to move him unless he was conscious. Even then, with one leg out of action, it was gonna be tricky navigating the branches and tree roots of the forest floor.

After what felt like a lifetime, his eyes started to flutter, and eventually opened, rolling around in his head until his gaze landed on Dean.

"Jesus, about time. I was about ready to slap you in the face to get you moving. How you feeling?" He asked, knowing it was a stupid question in general. Dean needed an idea of Sams state though, if he was even gonna be able to get him out of here on his own. Calling Cas was out of the picture, they hadn't spoken since their confrontation in the bunkers map room, and Dean was still being stubborn. He knew he probably owed the angel an apology, but he was too busy being angry and pig-headed over their crappy run of luck. Besides, he didn't even know if Cas was juiced up these days.

"L-Like I got my foot caught in a b-ear trap." Sam deadpanned, trying out a laugh, with quickly turned into a coughing fit. He quickly realised how freaking cold he was, and that would explain why his teeth were chattering. By now the cold of the floor had seeped through all the layers of his clothes and he was cold right down to his bones. "H-How long did it take you t-to get here?"

"Okay, so you're awake enough to be a smartass. Good to know." He gave his brother lopsided smirk, placing his Maglite on the log beside them so that he could actually see what he was doing. If only they weren't parked miles away from here, the impalas headlights could have been a big help right now. "I'm gonna have to get this trap off your foot, Sammy, and it's gonna hurt like hell."

There it was again, he wondered if Dean knew what he saying when he used that throwaway phrase. Sam wasn't the only who knew exactly how much hell hurt. Dean had spent thirty years on the rack before he'd gotten off and started the hurting. They'd really never compared notes, never had competitions about whose hell hurt more.

Dean unbuckled his belt and pulled it through he loops of his jeans with a swoosh of leather on denim. "Okay, little brother. You bite down on this and I'm gonna get you out of here quick as a cat, alright?" He gave Sam a reassuring nod and one of the smiles that only ever reserved for him. The one that said _'I know things don't look good right now, but don't worry, because big brother is gonna make everything okay' _Sam bit down on the leather, his molars making dents in the cheap, probably fake leather. They'd never be the designer type, anything they owned with any kind of name on it probably came from a thrift store, or in some cases, stolen from a washing line when nothing else was available.

For years, Sam had worn his big brothers hand-me-downs. Until one day, seemingly out of nowhere, he had grown a head above his brother. His t-shirts now stopped above his navel and once baggy jeans were ankle biters. He remembered his dad being so mad about having to waste their meagre budget on a whole new wardrobe for him. Sam almost wanted to shake his head, say it didn't matter, say he'd wear jumpers with sleeves that stopped short of his wrists. Whatever it took for his father to not look at him like his very existence was a burden. It was Dean however, to make the point to John that the teachers at school were bound to ask questions if Sam turned up in clothes too small. So that day, Dean had taken his thirteen year old brother out to the thrift store to pick a whole new wardrobe, and it had been like fucking Christmas. No, better than Christmas.

Sams thoughts had drifted off to memories from decades ago, and he hadn't even realised Dean had been talking to him until he felt a hand lightly patting him on the cheek.

"M'good. I'm here." Sam said, blinking slowly a couple of times. "You got it off?" He was hoping the whole thing was a painless ordeal, but with their lives, it rarely was.

"Not yet, Sammy. It's an old trap so it's gonna be hard to get off, gonna be rusty. When I've got it open, I'm gonna need you to move your foot. You think you can do that?" His hand was still on Sams cheek, and the warmth was so nice that it almost made the youngest Winchester want to slip back into unconsciousness.

"Hey, Sam! No sleeping yet, big guy. Once we get back to the motel and I've got you all patched up, you can sleep the world away." That made Sam groan, he just wanted Dean to fix things with Cas right now so he could heal Sam and make this whole ugly ordeal disappear.

"Okay, ready. Here we go." Dean slipped the belt back into his brothers mouth, and gave him one more pat on the cheek. It looked really bad, blood had soaked his now-ruined jeans, and it had started to pool beneath him, soaking into the dirt. Dean sent a prayer up to his dad, wherever he was now, thanking him for teaching them both a long time ago how to open up a bear trap. It was a complicated task, needed both of his hands and all of his concentration.

"Okay, okay. We got this, okay? I'm gonna count down and then you're gonna move your foot. Alright, one... Two... Three!" And like a well-oiled machine, Sam managed to move his foot as Dean pried the trap open, a scream of pain coming from behind the belt.

Once his mangled foot was clear of the of the trap, Sam spit the leather out of his mouth, letting out loud gasps of pain with each breath.

"Jesus... Jesus, Dean. Is it bad? It feels bad, I can't feel my toes." He threw an arm over his eyes, groaning in pain and listening to it echo in the vast forest.

"It's pretty bad, Sammy. I don't think I can patch this up on my own. I'm gonna have to get you to a hospital, buddy." At the mention of a hospital, Sam pitched himself up into a sitting position, slamming his hands onto the ground to stop himself from hitting the deck again.

"No, no hospital. We can patch it up at home, help me get up." They could not go to a hospital, not with the God wound on his shoulder. They'd take a look at it, they'd see it wasn't healing, and they'd ask him why, and then he'd end up as some kind of science experiment. They couldn't risk it, and more to the point, they couldn't afford it. Things had been so busy as of late, that they hadn't been able to sort out new health insurance. It used to be a lot easier with Bobby around to fix those things for them, now there was so much they had to do themselves.

"Hey, don't be ridiculous. You realise your ankle is probably broken, right? We have to go to the hospital." Dean shook his head in disbelief, the hospital was neither of their favourite places, but even he would have to admit defeat at this point, and looking at Sams face, he knew that his little brother wasn't far off coming to the same conclusion.

For a few minutes, there was silence. Aside from the sound of the rain falling against the floor, the birds in the trees and Sams heavy breathing.

"Okay... _Okay_, hospital." Sam conceded with a sigh, looking down at the torn denim of his jeans, then shifting his gaze over to where the bear trap lay. "We- We need to move that out of the way. Next t-time it won't be a hunter that stands on it, next time it'll be some dumb kids on a camping trip." There was a small lake of water a bit down the way, and Dean took the bear trap and deposited it into the bottom of it, hopefully now it wouldn't cause any more harm. While his brother was off doing that, Sam had manufactured some kind of makeshift splint, out of Deans belt, his own, and a large but light, branch. It wasn't ideal, but it would be enough to get Sam back to the car.

"Th-This is gonna suck." Sam stuttered, looking up at Dean when he started to pull his jacket off. "Dean, no. You'll catch a cold."

"Yeah, and you've probably already got one, so shut up and put your arms in, Bitch." Dean responded with a grin, pulling Sams wet and dirtied Jacket off and replacing it with his much drier one. If Sam wasn't so cold, he'd give Dean a bitchface and a verbal response, but as it was, just getting his arms into the jacket was difficult. Dean had packed up their weapons into the duffel and slung it over one of his shoulders, leaving the other one free to help Sam up off the ground. The pain was immeasurable, but if he had to compare it to anything, it was like when he'd had his shoulder dislocated by a very pissed off demon. Back when he'd been looking for his brother, when he'd been a demon himself, and Sam had dealt with that injury alone. At least this time, he had Dean.

"I'm glad you're here, Dean." Sam mumbled, his gimp foot hovering above the ground as Dean slung his arm over his shoulder, leaning all 6"4 of Sam on his frame.

"Yeah, okay princess. I'm glad I'm here too, I always loved being your damn crutch." That made Sam laugh, which turned into a gasp of pain when his injured foot hit a rock when they started to move. "Alright, take it easy now. I'm not fireman lifting you to car, so let's go slow, okay?"

"Couldn't even if you wanted to, would crush you."

"Yeah right. You're all full of air, jackass." Which would be a lie Dean might be able to get away with, if not for the fact that he was always out of breath, jut from carrying his giant of a brother the small way they had come. "Next time you can crawl."

Sam, thankfully, hadn't wandered too far from the car when he'd gotten stuck, and although it was slow walk, they made it back within the hour. They'd had to stop a couple of times so they could both catch their breath, and the rocky ground beneath them didn't make the journey any easier. A couple times they had almost tripped on a broken tree root or slipped on wet leaves. If not for Deans quick reactions, Sam would have a bloody nose on top of the ripped-up foot.

Blessedly, over the small hill in front of them lay the impala. The moonlight shining off of its brilliant black paintwork. It made the simple black look like the most beautiful color in all of creation.

"Baby, it is good to see you." Dean sighed in relief, pulling Sam to the car and leaning him up against the side while he dug through his pockets for the keys. "You still with me, Sammy?" He asked, glancing up at his brother as he moved over to the trunk. Before he let him anywhere near his perfectly polished interior, he was gonna get that leg properly bandaged up. He loved his brother, but he loved his real leather seats too.

"I'm with ya… Cold, Dean…" Although if you looked at Sam, at the sweat pouring down his face and curling the ends of the hair, you would think cold was the last thing he would be.

"I know, buddy. Gonna get you wrapped up in the back in just about two minutes, okay? You think you can last that long without pitchin' sideways?" Bandages, painkillers, scissors and whiskey in hand, he moved back to Sam and picked him up off the car so that he could get Sam sat down, duff leg sticking out in front of him. "Gonna have to take a trip to the thrift store, huh Sammy? Get you a new pair of jeans, probably a new pair of them boots you like so much."

Dean slowly moved the torn pant leg out of the way, getting a real look at Sams leg for the first time since he'd found him. It was gruesome. Under the torn skin and drying blood, there was definite bone. Yeah, this was gonna take a lot more than a couple stitches. Sam was leaning against the back seat, eyes closed and breathing quickly through barely panted lips. If it wasn't for the small grunts of pain every few seconds, Dean would be worried that his brother was unconscious. So what if the kid needed to rest his eyes for two minutes, he'd just been through hell.

Another ten minutes gone by, and Sam was about as patched up as he was gonna get. "Alright. Let's get you comfortable, then we'll be on our way." Dean said, mostly to himself as he deposited the rest of the medical supplies back in the box in the trunk and grabbed the worn, ratty blanket they kept there for situations just like this. The eldest Winchester moved around to the other side of the Impala and opened up the back door, climbing in so that he could help pull Sam into the car. "Sammy, gonna move you. Lift your leg, okay?" He was barely conscious now but had enough left about him to listen to his brothers instruction, lifting his leg so it didn't bump against the edge of the bench seat.

"Good job, brother. Almost ready to go." He lay the blanket over Sam and made sure he was safely tucked against the back of the seat, before he climbed out and gently shut the door.

Sam felt safe in the confines of their first home, surrounded by the familiar smell of takeout food, leather cleaner and their usual fabric softener. After a few minutes, he let the rumble of the cars engine, lull him into a comfortable unconsciousness. Dean had him now, he was gonna look after him. He didn't have to worry anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

The incessant beep of the machines was what eventually brought Sam around. Not the fact that for the past four days, while he had been unconscious and fighting off a pretty nasty infection, Dean had been by his side. Holding his hand, stroking his hair back from his face every so often. All the girly, chick flick things that he normally wouldn't do if Sam was in the land of the living. At one point he had even started humming the entire Led Zeppelin discography, hoping that Sam would wake up just to tell him to be quiet. When his little brother hadn't woken up after the first day though, Dean had started to panic. He knew Sam had been through the ringer, but he didn't know why it was taking him so long to come around. _'Screw it'_ he had thought at one point, sat watching his brothers prone figure, swathed in blankets with wires and IVs pooled around him. _'The kid needs rest'_.

Four days was more than enough though, so when he saw Sam's eyes shift underneath the lids and saw his fingers twitch where they lay by his side, Dean was relieved. Beyond relieved. If God wasn't a dick, he'd probably thank him.

"Hey, Sammy. C'mon sleeping beauty, you're starting to grow a five o'clock shadow and I ain't shaving it for you." Dean stood up, leaning over the bed and looking down at his little brother as he started to open his eyes. "There you go. Heya, Sam." He gave him a smile, reaching out to place a hand on his forehead, still warm with the end tail of the fever. It took a few more minutes of slow blinking before Sam was fully with him, still high on painkillers, but conscious.

Glazed over eyes drifted around the room, taking in the clean, white, familiar edges of a hospital room. The smell of antiseptic drifted up Sam's nose, making him wrinkle it in disgust and dislodge the nasal canula sitting across his face. He'd always hated hospitals, hated being in them watching his loves ones day even more than he hated a patient. That smell just brought back memories of losing their dad, losing Bobby. Most of the time when they lost people, they never even made it to a hospital. Just a pile of wood in the middle of a field. His dad used to say that it was an honor to go out like that, the way a hunter should go, but Sam couldn't see anything honorable about it. He knew he'd die young, at the hands of a fang or some other monster. When he did go, he knew he'd be salted and burned. Sam didn't want that. He wanted a headstone. He wanted a headstone beside Jessica, if her family would allow it. After all this time, he still wanted to be by her side.

For a few minutes, Sam just stared at the wall opposite them, and Dean started to worry that maybe the fever had fried the last of his brain cells. The ones that hadn't already been killed by the multiple concussions the younger Winchester had suffered over the years. Just as he was about ready to call for a doctor to come check Sam out, his eyes locked onto his and he cleared his throat.

"You need some water?" He asked, and before Sam could even respond with a small nod, Dean had reached over for the plastic beaker with a straw poked through the top. "Here, small sips, okay?" He placed the straw into his mouth and let Sam take a few small sips before pulling it away, tutting at the pout on his younger brothers face. "Don't look at me like that, alright? You've been out of it for the best part of week, I don't want the first thing you do to be puking all over your front."

"I was out for that long?" Sam responded, a small furrow to his brows. It hadn't felt like that long for him, only that he remembered everything fading to black in the back of the impala, and nothing until now. Dean was lying, which was obvious in the painful dryness of his voice, dry from underuse, and the scratchy feel of stubble on his cheek. It was only then that he realised his left ankle was elevated off of the bed and had a thick, heavy cast on it. Thanks to the painkillers he couldn't really feel much aside from the weight. "Jesus, that bad huh?" He asked, looking back to Dean who had sat back down beside the bed.

"Worse than bad, dude. Your bones were crushed, they had to do surgery to put it back together. You got pins in there now, you're the bionic man." Sam laughed a little, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He was too busy thinking about how he was gonna work with a bum leg. They hadn't even got the werewolf that they were in the middle of hunting, and judging by Deans appearance, he hadn't left Sam's bedside in the four days he'd been here. It wasn't like they could even get Cas to heal him, he was in the wind, wouldn't even bother replying to Sam's texts. Dean had been pretty vague about what exactly had gone on between them, which left Sam in the dark with both of them.

"Hey, Sammy. We'll figure it out." Dean patted his little brother on the arm, reading his mind, like always. If Dean had to push his ego aside and apologise to Cas to get him to come back and heal Sam's leg, then he was going to do that. Nothing was more important to him than getting Sam back on two legs. For now, he'd just make him as comfortable as possible. "Hey, good news though. Now you're up and at 'em, we should be able to get you out of here and get you home." It was a hell of a drive back to Lebanon, but as long as he set Sam up comfortable in the back of the car, and broke a couple of speed limits, he could have him back in the bunker and safe within two days.

"What about the job? That werewolf is just gonna kill more people if we… if you don't go and finish the job." Sam didn't like the idea of Dean going out there on his own but liked the idea of an unfinished job even more.

"Sam, it's dealt with. I called up a friend, who called a friend in the area, and they're gonna deal with it." Dean didn't like the idea of walking away from a job either but staying with Sam and making sure he was okay was more important than a job that could be taken over by any old hunter. This wasn't an end of the world problem, and even if it was, so what? Maybe someone else could deal with the end of the world for once. Dean would deal with his little brother, first and foremost; he was more important than the world or anyone else in it, anyway.

"You know what you did miss, though." Dean started up again after they'd sat in silence for a few moments. He pushed himself out of the hard, plastic chair with a groan and walked around the bed to the window, pulling open the drawn blinds. "Snow, Sammy!" He exclaimed, much like a young child would do at the sight of the fat, white flakes falling from the sky.

From his bed, Sam couldn't see where they had been falling for the last two days, setting a pristine, alabaster blanket over the parking lot that his room overlooked. They were never really in one place long enough to see this much snow fall. the last time had probably been when they were younger. They'd spent an entire winter semester in the same place, Christmas and all. The snow had fallen all through the night, and in the morning, they had both wrapped up tight and gone to play in the snow and sledge until their socks were soaked through and their noses were redder than Rudolph. That night, they had sat together in their mismatched pyjamas, drank hot chocolate, and watched Home Alone. It had been one of the best Christmas' they had ever had.

Maybe this Christmas, Cas would come home, and they could all spend it together in the bunker. Like a proper family. It wouldn't be the same without their mom, or Jack, but with the three of them together, it would be enough. Enough to be happy There was plenty of room in the library for a real tree, and they could exchange presents. Like actual families did. Maybe, with God out of the picture, they could be. No ends of the worlds, no hunts, no monsters. Just family.

Sam was still hopped up on morphine, so when his eyes started to drop closed, Dean didn't try and keep him up. At least he had woken up, and spoken to him, and he didn't seem too traumatised by the whole ordeal. The Winchesters were, of course, pretty good at hiding how they felt. Dean had been hiding how he felt from a young age, that his emotional vulnerability was practically non-existent at this point in his life. Sam had learnt everything from his big brother, picked up on everything from the moment he could, so it was hardly surprising that he was emotionally stunted too. Hopefully once they were back, Dean could get Sam to open up with him about how he was really feeling.

A few times in the past few days, Dean had thought Sam was waking up, only to have it be some drug induced nightmare. The sounds that his little brother had made though, that was what had worried him. The whimpers, the frown on his face and the pull of his brows. Whatever Sam was seeing in his unconscious state, it wasn't pleasant. On more than one occasions, Dean had wanted to just shake his brother awake, to stop him making those kinds of noises. He felt useless, knowing that Sam was suffering, and he could nothing about it. Just like he could do nothing about the cast on his leg.

As if the wound on Sams shoulder would have somehow disappeared in the two hours since Dean last checked it, he pulled aside the hospital issued gown and looked down at the perfectly round wound. It was worse than it had been the last time Sam had shown him, red and dark green, angry in appearance, with vein like lines protruding from it. Why the hell had Sam said nothing? This was important, this was major, but he'd been keeping it to himself. The wound should be getting better, not worse. Just what in the hell had that equalizer done to his brother? This and the nightmares, they had to be linked. There had to be a reason why Sam was saying nothing, and once they were back in the security of the bunker, Dean was determined to find out what that reason was.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam liked to sleep on his front, one hand under his pillow clutching his handgun. The bunker was the safest place they had ever lived, practically no one could get in unless they were invited. Still, that didn't stop both Sam and Dean from sleeping with weapons under their pillows. The large plaster cast on Sam's foot made it harder to sleep on his foot, it was bulky and in the way. They'd arrived back at the bunker last night and Sam, still high on pain medication had retreated to his bedroom, not that he would have had a say in it where Dean was concerned. If he had even headed in the direction of the library, he would have been firmly steered towards the sleeping quarters.

It had been a restless night for Sam, tossing and turning as best he could with a massive weight on his foot. Every time it caught on the sheets it woke him up, and every time he tried to roll onto his front, his entire leg spiked in pain, so bad it had him sitting up and reaching for the cast.

He was dozing pitifully, having checked the clock a while ago and seen that the sun wasn't even up yet. If he couldn't fall asleep again soon, he'd give up and get up, use the hospital issued crutches to hobble to the kitchen and make himself some coffee. Maybe he'd find a job for Dean, cause he knew his big brother would get bored after a couple of days waiting around for Sam's leg to get better. He'd pretend he was fine, but he'd get restless, then get grouchy. If there was one thing more annoying than the cast on Sam's leg, then it was a grumpy Dean.

He felt him before he saw him, the soft breeze, the tell-tale feeling of another body in the room. It wasn't Dean, because he hadn't heard the door open, so it must have been the only other person in the world that had open access to the bunker.

"Cas..." Sam sighed, a smile on his face, pushing himself up on the mattress so his back rested against the headboard, propped up by the pillows behind him. The trench coat wearing angel was stood at the end of the bed, hands shoved into the pockets. After days of unanswered texts, seeing Cas here and unharmed made Sam's shoulders drop a little in relief. Dean still hadn't told him what had happened between the two of them, when they'd returned to the bunker after Rowena. It had been a hard day, watching her take a nosedive into hell, knowing she would never have survived the fall. Even if by some miracle she had, the souls she was harvesting would have killed her.

Since Cas had left the bunker, he'd been revaluating a lot about his long life. The things he had done, what he had seen, what he had given up. Whether it had been worth it or not. Cas had understood Deans anger, had even come to expect it at this point. He knew both the brothers, well enough to know how they dealt with grief. He'd seen them lose so many loved ones. While Sam retreated into himself to deal, Dean was outward and angry in his grief. He pushed people away, blamed people. But Cas was tired of being blamed. He had tried, he had tried to stick to the plan, but knowing what Belphegor would have been capable of with all the power of those souls, he'd made an executive decision. The decision had cost them Rowena, and Castiel would carry the burden of that for the rest of his very long life. At the end of the day though, it had been the right thing to do.

"Sam. I'm… Sorry, I didn't come sooner. I've been… busy." Cas felt bad, what was going on between himself and Dean hadn't been any fault of Sam's. He should have responded to his texts, but he felt like a burden. Like maybe Sam was only checking in on Castiel because he felt like he had to, not because he was concerned about him. "How is your leg? Dean texted me to tell me what happened." Not to check up on him, just to tell him to get his 'ass here to heal my brother'. Castiel had come, of course he had. Sam and Dean were important, and it was important to make sure that they were both good to be on the road.

Although he hadn't been able to heal Sam's bullet wound, he hoped that his Grace would be able to fix his busted ankle. Then at least would feel useful again. Seating himself on the bed beside Sam, he reached out and placed a hand over the plaster cat. "Hold still…" He mumbled, closing his eyes as a bright light emanated from the palm of Cas' hand. After a few moments, he pulled away and watched to see Sam's reaction. "How does it feel?"

Sam wiggled his toes experimentally, before looking up at Cas with a soft smile on his face. "It feels good, Cas. Doesn't hurt. Think it worked." Now all they had to do was figure out how to get the cast off.

"I can do that." Cas said, reaching out and pulling at the cast until it pulled apart down the middle. "Smells odd." He said, looking down at the free foot.

"Yeah, you try having your foot stuck in a cast for the best part of a week and see how it smells." Sam snickered, before his facial expressions softened and he looked back at Castiel. "Thank you for coming, Cas. I know things haven't been easy lately, whatever it is going on with you and Dean, it's- "

Castiel held his hand up to stop Sam's in his track, before the same hand reached out to lay on the younger Winchesters knee softly. "Whatever might be going on between your brother and I, is not of import. You needed my help, and I will always come when you need me, Sam."

Though their relationship had been turbulent in the beginning, and at one point, Castiel only saw Sam Winchester as the boy with the demon blood. The one who threatened and succeeded, in starting the apocalypse. Since that time, they had grown closer, Castiel had grown to understand why the youngest Winchester had done what he had done. He'd been manipulated from the very beginning. Told one thing by Ruby and another thing by the angels, many of whom had their own agenda from the very start. He'd been hard on Sam in the beginning, but his soul was pure, even after everything it had been through. He remembered being possessed by Lucifer, remembered watching him as he plunged a hand into Sam's soul. What amazed Castiel, even as he screamed for Lucifer to let his friend go, was the pure brilliance of Sam's soul. Given the torture it went through at the devils hand, the fact that it was even intact was a miracle.

Sam climbed to his feet, testing the full weight of his body on his ankle, and was relieved to feel no pain at all. It made him think of the equalizer wound, and why the hell Cas could not heal that. It wasn't worth thinking about right now, though. Their friend was here, and he hoped that maybe he could convince him to stay.

"Listen Cas, maybe you could stay. I don't… I don't like not knowing where you are, when you don't text back. I worry about you, we both do. Dean might not say it, might not show it, but I think he was expecting you'd come back after a couple of days." Sam sat back down beside Cas, the mattress springs squeaking below him. "Maybe if you stayed, you could talk to Dean. Whatever it is, whatever you've both got going on, it can't be so bad that you can't stay and talk it out."

"I don't think Dean wants to talk to me." Cas responded; his eyebrows pushed together in sadness. "I doubt he can even stand to look at me right now. He already blamed me for everything going wrong with Jack, and the death of your mother. Now he blames me for Rowena. I don't doubt that you do too."

"I don't. Cas, I don't blame you for any of it. What happened with Jack, we should all have seen it coming. We all let it happen because we were scared to lose him, and you know… I love my mom, and God knows I'll miss her more than anything, but she was… she was never happy here, not really. Now she's back with my dad, and no doubt back with the babies she left behind. That's all she ever really wanted." It hurt Sam that they were never really enough for their mother, that she would always miss the children she left behind. Now she was back with them, and as much as it would always hurt, there was a sense of joy, knowing she was happy again.

"Rowena… Losing her, really sucked. She was… She was a friend, you know. She really came through for us in the end, but you did the right thing. Dean or I would have made that same decision in your shoes, Dean knows it. He's just mad… but he won't stay mad, and you won't have to stay away. You shouldn't have to, this is your home too, Cas."

"That's very kind of you, Sam, but for now I'm going to stay away. I promise though, I will respond to your texts more promptly." Cas stood up, and before Sam could even argue, could even tell him to just try and talk to Dean, there was another breeze and the angel was gone.

A few seconds later, Dean arrived at the door, looking down in bemusement at Sam's now cast-less foot. "What the hell did I miss?"

"Cas came. Said he saw your text and wanted to help. I tried to get him to stay, but…" Sam trailed off with a shrug of his shoulders, looking around at the empty room.

"Oh…" Dean responded, raising his brows and trying to look like he didn't care that Castiel was here and didn't stop to see him.

"What the hell exactly did you say to him, Dean? Cas is convinced that he's to blame for everything that went wrong."

"Well are you convinced he's not?" Brows slammed back down into the picture of anger, Dean responded by folding his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"What is wrong with you, man? Cas had put his ass on the line for us more times we can count, and he did exactly what either one of us would have done if we were in hell with Belphegor, and you know it." Sam pointed a finger in Deans direction and climbed to his feet, moving past him and into the hallways. "You're just pissed off and looking for someone to blame, and you're choosing Cas because every time up now, until he's stood by and let you use him as a scapegoat, but maybe this time he won't actually stick around. Maybe this time he's tired of being your emotional punching bag."

"Sam, don't be a dick." Dean turned on his heels and followed him down the hall.

"Me, be a dick? Take a look in the mirror, dude. Leave me alone, I'm gonna take a shower." He turned the corner and headed into the shower room, slamming the door behind him, signalling that the conversation was well and truly over.

"Well, when you've finished having your princess pamper time and done PMS'ing, come have a freaking beer and talk to me!" He rolled his eyes and headed back towards the kitchen, boots stomping on the linoleum. They still had to talk about the whole 'god wound not healing' situation. No doubt it would go about as well as this conversation had.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam took his time in the shower, letting the endless supply of hot water the bunker held, wash away the grime of the past week. Since having the cast on, he'd been unable to shower properly, and he liked to be clean. Liked his nails to be trimmed down to the quick, his hair to be styled correctly. Dean called it primping and preening, but Sam called it maintaining control. He'd hated the feeling of the grime under the cast, was glad to have it off, had planned on burning it outside when he first got the chance. Once he was out of the shower, redressed in a fresh pair of sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, he patted barefoot down towards the kitchen, where he knew Dean would be waiting for him with a bottle of beer. He didn't want to fight with his brother, not after everything they had just been through. Once again, Sam had been on the brink of something terrible, and once again, he'd made it through. They both had. They were home, and that was something to celebrate. Sam, however, knew celebrating was the last thing on Dean's mind.

Turning the corner into the kitchen and walking down the steps, Dean was indeed already seated at the table, one beer sat unopened and the other in the elder Winchesters hand, already half-drunk, and it probably wasn't Dean's first.

"Thanks," Sam said, nodding towards the beer as he climbed on to the bench, pulling the bottle towards him. his fingers were dampened by the condensation that had accumulated on the glass bottle, and he wiped the moisture off onto his thigh. He was less angry now, then before his shower, but still couldn't understand why the hell Dean was so mad at Castiel for something that none of them could have seen coming. Before he could even open up his mouth to bring it up, Dean had already started talking.

"I had to try and explain to the hospital why you had a wound on your shoulder that looked infected and untreated. Had to make up some shit on the spot." Dean started, staring down at the neck of his beer bottle and chewing on his bottom lip in frustration. "Of course, if you'd have told me that the freaky god wound on your shoulder wasn't healing, I would have been a little more prepared." Then he looked up at his younger brother. "This is something you should have told me, Sam. You got shot— or not shot, by a magic gun made to kill God, and now you have a wound that won't close up. Did you not think to mention it?"

Like a goldfish in a bowl, Sam's mouth opened and shut a few times as he tried to think of a response. With his foot hanging off by a thread, he hadn't been thinking about the wound on his shoulder. Laying on the forest floor in agony was probably the first time since he'd been shot that he hadn't felt the throbbing wound. Of course, if he hadn't passed out before they made it to the hospital, he would have brought it up to Dean. Then after he woke up, Dean hadn't mentioned it either, and Sam had stupidly thought that he'd just gotten away with it. It wasn't like he wasn't ever going to tell Dean about it, things just kept happening. They were busy trying to stop the world from ending, again. Then everything at the cemetery had happened, and he'd been too overcome with grief to even think about bringing it up.

"I was going to tell you eventually, Dean. I swear it. Once everything was over and we were back home and safe, I was going to tell you everything. You were just... angry, at Cas. Our crap luck, God. Everything. I didn't want to— to burden you with something else, you know?"

"Sam, you're not a burden. You're my brother, and you're supposed to tell me when you've got a freaking hole in your shoulder!" Dean exclaimed.

That wasn't even the worst of it, Sam thought. How could even begin to tell his brother about the nightmares he'd been having. That he was scared he was seeing through the cracks of God's mind, seeing how all his other stories ended. That he was scared, that maybe that's how their story would end. No matter how hard they tried to fight God's will, maybe their story was already written, and eventually, one brother would kill the other. Sam couldn't kill his brother, was so sure he wouldn't, but if God had been controlling their whole lives, planning out every evil thing that had happened to them. Watched as they lost loved ones and smiled... Then he would surely finish this story the same as all the others. With death.

"I'm sorry, okay? I am. I promise I won't hide anything else." Which meant he would have to tell him because otherwise, Dean would find out. Of course, he'd find out, Dean had a way of knowing every little thing about his younger brother. Sometimes, it was annoying to have someone know you better than you know yourself.

"There is something else, but it's only— only just started happening. I haven't been hiding it from you, I just.. It happened, and then the bear trap happened and I never had time to bring it up." Taking a deep breath, to psyche himself up, he busied his hands opening up the bottle of beer he'd been holding onto so tightly that his hand had gone cold. "I've been having these— these nightmares. At least, I thought they were nightmares. Some kind of... Messed up PTSD, now I'm not so sure. I think maybe I'm— seeing through the cracks. Seeing what God sees. Maybe when I shot him, I created some kind of connection. I'm seeing all of his stories, all the ones he gave up on. They all end the same way."

Dean felt like he already knew the answer, but still, he had to ask. "How do they end?"

"We kill each other. You kill me or I kill you. I've seen it all now, the mark of Cain takes you over and you stab me with the first blade, or— or I'm on demon blood and I snap your neck. In one of them, I was possessed by Lucifer and I burned you alive." That had been a bad one, hearing the screams, knowing he'd been the one to do it. It took him back to that day in Stull Cemetery when he'd watched behind a glass wall as his fist had pounded into his brother's face over and over. He'd watched his hands break Dean's nose and orbital bone and being helpless to stop it. Every nightmare had him waking in a cold sweat, looking down at himself, expecting to find blood on his hands or blood spilling from his gut. With each passing night, the terrors felt more real. Sam was frightened that one day they'd slip into his waking life, and he'd start to have debilitating visions again.

"Hey. Look at me." Dean almost snapped, rapping his knuckles on the table to get Sam to look up from his lap. "Maybe in all those other worlds, those versions of you and I weren't strong enough to stop God from.. executing his will. Maybe they didn't love each other as much as we do. There's nothing on this planet, or any other planet, no God strong enough to make me wanna kill you, you got that? We'll beat God, even if we both die doing it. We'll go out swinging like we always do. Fight like hell until we can't fight anymore. But I ain't killing you Sam, and you ain't killing me either."

There was nothing Sam could say to that, no retort he could give that would feel powerful enough to match what Dean had just said. He believed his big brother, just like he always did. If Dean believed that they could fight this fight and win, then so would Sam. Sure, he was scared. But if there was ever a time to be scared, then it was taking on God, because he was far from gone. He was still there, in the dark, pulling the strings. He'd wanted to believe that he'd just move on, start another story and leave this one behind. Then again, God did always say that this story was his favorite. It was going to take more than a couple of threats to get him to stay gone. They were going to have to kill God.

"Okay. Okay, we'll do it. But we need Cas, we can't do it without him, and you know that." Sam pointed out, taking a sip of his now warmed up beer.

"Sam, c'mon. I don't wanna talk about this right now." Dean replied with a roll of his eyes and following with a sip of his beer.

"No, you come on. We talked about me, now tell me what the hell is going on with you. You can't blame Castiel for what happened with Rowena, we have no idea what Belphegor would have been capable of with all those souls. Cas was on his own and had to make a split-second decision, and he only did what either of us would have done. He can't have known Rowena would sacrifice herself. Hell, we didn't even know a spell like that existed! Rowena is gone, and that sucks, but she sacrificed herself. She made that choice to save the world." Sam had been there, had known that no wouldn't have been an answer that Rowena would have taken. She had been determined, more determined than Sam had ever seen the witch. It was how her story would end, by Sam's hand. He would carry that with him forever, feel guilty about that for the rest of his life. If Dean needed someone to blame, then he should blame his brother.

"I'm just tired of losing everyone, man," Dean responded, running a hand over his mouth. "We could have dealt with Belphegor, I know we could have, but we didn't get the chance because Cas screwed up. He's just pissed off because I'm pissed off at him, he'll come back, I'll apologize and so will he, and he'll help us with the God thing."

"Dean, what if he doesn't? What if this time Cas doesn't just come when we call? He came back and healed my ankle, but I couldn't even convince him to stay and talk." Sam didn't think they could pull this off without Cas' help, and his knowledge. He knew more about God than either of them, maybe he'd know his weak spot. A way to take him down, without Cas in the picture, Sam feared they would lose this fight.

"Nah, Cas is family. He'll come back, he always comes back."


End file.
